


Tea for Solas

by CommonEvilMastermind



Series: Ellara Lavellan Collection [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Tea, culture talks, the rotunda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:48:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonEvilMastermind/pseuds/CommonEvilMastermind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is not fond of tea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea for Solas

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of the Official Ellara Collection. Posted late because life. Love to rpglvr. Love to all of you. Thank you for reading.

Lavellen sat across from him, muttering at the desk she had pushed directly in front of his own. The rotunda was quiet, save for the scratching of their quills, her soft cursing, the ravens shifting darkly far above.

Solas was going through a codex of practical Dalish magic. The author, a Chantry brother from a century past, had an occasionally useful observation. Much of the information was buried so deeply under Circle rhetoric so as to be nearly useless.

Of greater entertainment was keeping subtle count of the sheets of blotting paper Lavellen went through. Josephine had tasked her with writing a complete report of the events of Corypheus’ attack on Haven. It was not going smoothly.

“Solas, how do you spell ‘disappear’ in Common?”

“How would you imagine?”

“Daleh-sim-peh-resh,” she answered promptly in the Elvhen alphabet.

Solas snorted. “D-i-s-a-p-p-e-a-r.”

“Damn.” She dabbed at the ink with her last bit of blotting paper. Solas made another small mark on the edge of his notes.

“Does your clan not write in Common, then?”

“They do.” She threw down her quill in disgust. “I was just so bad at it that no one ever wanted me to waste parchment and ink. The only writing I did was in my training for Keeper, and that’s all in Elvhen.”

 _Dalish elvhen_ , Solas did not say. In the thousands of years he slept, even the written forms had drifted far from their roots in Arlathan. Even with a year of magically-enhanced study, he still had to fight to appear fluent in Common, much less the dozens of different fragmented Dalish dialects.

Lavellen searched her desk. “Do you have any blotting paper?”

“No.” He tried to keep the smile from his voice. She had taken his last sheet yesterday.

“Bother.” She stood and stretched out the kinks, rising to the tips of her bare toes. Solas did not look to see if her movement exposed a stretch of her bare midriff, if her vallaslin continued to branch and twine there. “I’ll fetch some. Need anything?”

He shook his head wordlessly, trying to focus on a particularly convoluted passage where the author attempted to deride the Dalish and praise their magic simultaneously. It came off as incomprehensible.

Lavellen was gone for long enough that Solas noticed how quiet the rotunda became in her absence. It was almost a relief when she came clattering through the doorway, balancing a stack of blotting paper with one of Skyhold’s many teapots. She handed him a stack of paper, more than enough to replace what she borrowed, and lay the rest on her desk. He put it away with a half-smile, wagering to himself that she would ask for it again in week or less.

Lavellen clinked and shuffled at her desk, peering into a mug to judge if it was clean enough for use.

“Your sleep would no doubt improve without added stimulation.” Solas nodded at the teapot.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s herbal tea, not dark, thank you. I hardly want to be writing this damned thing all night. Would you like some?”

“No.”

She folded herself into her chair and propped her head in her hands, teapot forgotten momentarily. “Do you ever drink tea?”

“Only when it cannot be avoided.”

She was silent. Suspiciously so. He looked up to find her peering at him, the oddest expression on her face.

“Solas?”

“Yes?”

“When you visited the Dalish… did you drink the tea they offered you?”

He snorted at the memory. “Hardly.”

She didn’t let up. “Did you accept it and then not drink it, or just refuse it outright?”

Something in her tone made him uncomfortable. “I did not see the purpose of wasting any for the sake of propriety.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” she started, voice flat. “That you went to a Dalish camp, refused the tea, then tried to tell them that their language and culture were wrong?”

“Inaccurate,” he protested, shifting in his seat. He bore the full focus of her gaze. The candle light caught in the amber depths of her eyes, dark with an emotion he could not name.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and started to laugh. It rang through the library, bright and golden, startling Solas and the ravens in equal measure. Laughter was too rare in Skyhold, especially that unhindered by malice, grief, or fear.

Solas wanted to hear her laugh like that more often. Even if it was at his own expense.

She wiped tears from her face, still giggling. “Solas – forgive me. Sweet Herald’s grace, I’m surprised you did not wake in the morning to an empty camp with your breeches atop the nearest tree.”

“I take it the tea is important, then?” Her laughter erased the worry lines from her brow, turned her whole face to light.

She shook her head, grinning. “By refusing a cup of welcome, you told them that you did not trust them to act as hosts. And since you are a mage and a scholar, someone to be held in high esteem? Ha’hren, I doubt you could have insulted them more if you tried.”

He winced, replaying the disastrous episode in his mind. “I believe I also turned down the Keeper’s loan of his aravel instead of my own tent.”

This set her off laughing again. The sound was infectious. The corner of his mouth lifted. Seeing it through her eyes, perhaps it was a little amusing.

“You,” she told him sternly, “are never to visit a Dalish clan without me again.”

“Yes, ha’hren,” he told her seriously. “Yes, elder.”

“Damn straight, yes ha’hren,” she snorted. “And before we go, we will have Dalish culture lessons.”

“Must these lessons include tea?” he asked wryly.

She huffed at him in irritation, then thought for a second. “Wait here.” She clambered out of her chair and padded out of the library, bare feet soft on the cold stone. She was only gone for a few minutes before returning with a second ceramic mug containing a small spoon.

Solas sighed in resignation. She shot him a dirty look before opening the teapot and taking out the small cotton teabag, placing it in a tiny bowl that sat on her desk for that very purpose. She poured the tea into the mug and stirred it vigorously before placing it before him.

“One sip,” she said as if he was a small child. He shot her an irate look. She grinned at him.

He took the mug, appreciating the warmth in his cold hands, and took a tentative sniff. It was deep gold and heady, tingling his nose. Nothing resembling the black, bitter stuff that Lavellen and the others drank by the bucketful.

He took a cautious sip. “It’s sweet!” he said, delighted.

She grinned at him. “I added some honey we got from the Hinterlands.”

Solas grinned back. In his time, as now, sugar in any form was rare and valuable. The nobles of Elvhenan relished it. He had had precious little sweetness of any kind since he had awoken. The tea tasted like home.

He took another sip. Alongside the richness of the honey – how much had she wasted on him? – the tea danced golden with flavors he could not name. There was chamomile, yes, and mint, but also hints of rosehips, raspberry, wintergreen, and lavender. And was that anise?

“That is a Dalish tea.” She smirked at his obvious delight. “My clan’s own blend. We call it _athlean tarsul’alastarasyl._ ”

Solas flipped the translation through his mind, from Dalish to Common to his own, much more ancient Elvhen. “Twilight over the mountains,” he murmured, hoping he was correct. She grinned at him and poured her own mug, so he must not be too far off.

The tea soothed his jangled nerves, easing a headache he had hardly been aware of. Perhaps he had misjudged the beverage after all, if this cup was an example. Perhaps he had misjudged the Dalish, if this woman was one as well.

They settled back to their work, cradling warm mugs in their hands.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
> Elvhen from Project Elvhen by FenxShiral, my apologies for my inevitable mangling.
> 
> Lavellen’s tea is Evening in Missoula by the Teasource. Drink some if you ever have the chance. You won’t regret it.
> 
> I’m basing the Elvhen alphabet off of Hebrew. Both the Elves and Jews are a once major civilization, defeated by a romen-esque empire, subjected to crusades, splintered into tribes, and fighting to keep alive their language and culture. Some of them live in small groups outside of major urban areas while some reside in special, walled-off portions of the cities. They are often suspected, derided, and turned on when things get rough.
> 
> I mean, really. Just replace the pointy ears with a yellow star and thank the Herald that Thedas hasn’t seen a Hitler.


End file.
